Almost Normal
by Molly4
Summary: Marco angst. Takes place around book #10. My first Ani fic, so please no flames.


A\N I am new here at FFC.net, and this is my first ever Animorphs fanfic. If I get reviews I'll write more. But, I write Marco, and only Marco. He is my favorite character and the one I connect with most, because I use humor to cover up my pain. I might sometime write a Rachel fic, but probably not. This is a just a short Marco angst piece and I really hope you like it. I'm 13 and already critical of myself, so please no flames!!  
  
This takes place around Book #10.  
  
  
  
  
Almost Normal  
  
I grinned triumphantly. I kick butt. I am the Reigning Champ of Playstation. I am the master. The champ. I float like a butterfly. I sting like a bee. And I just tripled my high score!   
  
During my "touchdown dance" there was a knock at my door.  
  
"You may now enter the lair of Master Marco. Wipe your feet before entering," I called grinning.  
  
My dad rolled his eyes as he walked in. He gave a low bow.   
  
"Master Marco, your presence is requested at my humble dinner table."  
  
"I suppose I could make an appearance, but just this once." I smiled at my old man. He was really starting to act like himself again.  
  
Dad dried his hands on a dishtowel and threw it at my head. "C'mon honey, let's move it."  
  
Don't you hate it when your mom or dad calls you honey? Doesn't it just make you feel like a little baby? It's like when your parents come in your room late at night, when they think you're sleeping, kiss your forehead, tuck you in, and whisper, "I love you Little Marco Man." Or maybe that's just my dad. Anyhow, I've always hated anyone calling me honey, it's almost as bad as those old folks who call me sonny, or the arrogant adults who call me, 'hey you, punk kid.'  
  
"Don't call me honey," I growled.   
  
"Fine then Sweet Cheeks," my dad replied, walking out of the room. "Hurry along Pookie."   
  
I shook my head. My dad is going to ruin my macho reputation.   
  
Fact is, it actually kind of felt good when he called me honey. I felt like running up to him, wrapping my arms around him, and screaming, 'I love you Daddy!!' This whole stupid war messed up my life. It took away my mom, and two years of my dad's life that he'll never get back. It grabbed hold of the last strand of sanity left in me, and yanked it right out from under me.  
  
See, now I can enjoy the simple things in life, like my dad trying to be affectionate. Being called honey makes me feel so normal. Like a normal kid with a normal dad who lives to embarrass him. Like a normal kid with a normal father who thinks Blink-182 and Sum 41 are math problems. A normal dad who has no idea who Linkin Park is, and wonders how to get there. A normal dad who still thinks Eminem is candy.  
  
Can you believe it? How those stupid little things that used to drive me up the wall now seem like the biggest deal to me? I would've hugged my dad. I wanted to hug him. But I'd be risking my neck. He could have a Yeerk in his head for all I know. And the Yeerk would get suspicious. He could be opening up every memory in my father's head and coming up with the exact words my father would've said, while my dad would be begging him to please have mercy on his Little Marco's soul. I'd never suspect a thing. If I wasn't an Animorph.  
  
It's funny, ya know? I might as well have a Yeerk in my head. It's like I'm not there anymore. I have to be careful about what I say. Careful to seem like the same fun-loving, devil may care, guy I was before the war came and destroyed my life. Every word I say is taken from memory. Every movement I make is not my own. I am controlled by Yeerks, in ways I can barely explain. I can't cry, like I need to, I can't show any emotion, or ever get rid of my stupid, hollow, forced smirk. I can't even hug my father and tell him Mom's okay. Nope. I just open up all my memories and come up with something Marco would say in the same situation. Because I'm not Marco anymore. That boy is gone now. Now I'm just an Animorph.  
  
We've got everything your normal band of teenage super heroes has and needs. Your leader, your muscles, your Little Ms. Morals, your freak, your loner, and me, the brains behind this whole operation. See without me the balance would be thrown off. They'd be caught easily without me. They need their bitter, cynical, paranoid Marco to make things run smoothly. No matter what Rachel says.  
  
That's me, Mr. Logical. I take everyone's "brilliant" plans and find the flaws that everyone else overlooked. Without me, Rachel would go Xenia on everybody and charge into the Yeerk Pool head-on, Cassie would be making out with a tree, Jake would be sitting around, staring at Tom, wondering when the Yeerk would come clean, and Tobias and Ax would do whatever it is that Tobias and Ax do.   
  
That's my job in our wonderful band of crime fighters. Crack a quick joke, terminate all their plans, come up with a better idea. See, I'm not all gung-ho, or one with nature, I'm not a terrific leader, I'm not an alien freak addicted to Cinnamon Buns, and I'm not the mysterious loner type. I'm not even Marco anymore. I'm the handsome charming, brilliant one. Ha! Maybe. Or maybe I'm the only one who doesn't think we can win.  
  
I know we will all die eventually, if not from the war itself, from the repercussions. Maybe on TV, this whole story would end with the Yeerks going back to Yeerk Land, Jake and Cassie getting married, Ax going back to his homeland, Tobias and Rachel flying off into the sunset, and me happy with my mom back, but this ain't TV. Do you really think four five teens and a young Andalite can kill an entire race like the Yeerks?  
  
So all I really do, is try to hold onto my life as long as I possibly can. I've come to grips with that fact that I will die because of this. I know that there is not a snowball's chance in hell that I can come out of this war without a scratch on me. Then why am I fighting?  
  
I'm not in it from the glory, five kids in bike shorts and tight shirts don't exactly get much of that. I'm not in it for the cash, again, none. I'm in this because I still have the lingering hope that someday, somehow, I can be normal again.  
  
With a normal dad who can't cook. Me, the normal kid, addicted to video games and junk food. And with a normal mom to wipe away her normal son's tears, and bake him cookies on a rainy day.  
  
"Marco, cutie pie, dinner," my dad shouted, still in his teasing mode. "Get your butt down here before your mac & cheese gets cold!"  
  
"Knowing you made it, it's already cold!" I called back.  
  
"Just get in here!"  
  
"Did you remember to add the noodles?" I hollered, a tiny smile forming on my lips.  
  
"Ha, ha, ha," I heard my dad say dryly.  
  
And I almost felt normal.  
  
*Almost*  
  
finis  
  
Please no flames, this is my first fic!  
  
  
  
  
  



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